"Remember how I brought him from the encampment as a puppy," said Richard appealingly, "how I have trained him from the time that his eyes opened. Whatever he discovers is mine. Say now that I may go with him. He and I can cover the ground together. You shall follow in your own time."
"Perchance they shall be too many for you," said the father.
"Nay, we shall advance with care, and hide if there be danger. The whole army of France could not follow me in this forest."
"There comes no noise of fighting."
"It is but a spy who has discovered New Windsor. He must not carry that secret back to the fortress."
The hound broke forth, clouding the cold air with his breath, his eyes like lamps. He leapt at his master, and snatched his sleeve with a frothing muzzle, pulling him away.
"Say now that I may go," the boy cried. "The enemy may already have taken fear, and be retreating as fast as his cowardly feet may carry him."
The long awaited shout drifted down the wind, and the pale moon shivered when she heard.
"Go!" granted the stern man.
"St. George!" yelled the maddened child, clutching at the hound's thick collar of fur. The cry had no meaning. It was but a shout of war, a valve to his passion. "On, Blood! St. George!"